'N' the worst of it was, Nan chimed right in and began to scold Bunny for lettin' me in--and leaves the room, quick-like. Bunny put it on Pardaloe, and she and Gale had it, and b'jing, Gale put me out--said he'd pepper me. But wait till I tell y' how she fooled him. It was rainin' like h.e.l.l, 'n' it looked as if I was booked for a ride through it and hadn't half drunk my second cup of coffee at that. I starts for the barn, when some one in the dark on the porch grabs my arm, spins me around like a top, throws a flasher up into my face, and there was Nan. 'Bull,' she says, 'I'm sorry. I don't want to see you ride out in this with nothing to eat; come this way quick.'

"She took me down cellar from the outside, under the kitchen. When Gale goes out again she flings up the trap-door, speaks to Mex, pulls all the kitchen shades down, locks the doors, and I sets down on the trap-door steps 'n' eats a pipin' hot supper; say! Well, I reckon I drank a couple o' quarts of coffee. 'Bull,' she says, 'I never done you no harm, did I?' 'Never,' says I, 'and I never done you none, neither, did I? And what's more, I never will do you none.' Then I up and told her. 'Tell him,' says she, 'I can't get hold of a horse, nor a pen, nor a piece of paper--I can't leave the house but what I am watched every minute. They keep track of me day and night. Tell him,'

she says, 'I can protect myself; they think they'll break me--make me do what they want me to--marry--but they can't break me, and I'll never do it--tell him that.'

"'But,' says I, 'that ain't the whole case, Miss Nan. What he'll ask me, when he's borin' through me with _his_ eyes like the way you're borin' me through with yours, is: When will you see him--when will he see you?'

"She looked worrit for a minit. Then she looks around, grabs up the cover of an empty 'bacco box and a fork and begins a-writing inside."

Bull, with as much of a smile as he could call into life from his broken nerves, opened up his blanket, drew carefully from an inside coat pocket an oilskin package, unwrapped from it the flat, square top of a tin tobacco box on which Nan had scratched a message, and handed it triumphantly to de Spain.

He read her words eagerly:

"Wait; don't have trouble. I can stand anything better than bloodshed, Henry. Be patient."

While de Spain, standing close to the lantern, deciphered the brief note, Bull, wrapping his blanket about him with the air of one whose responsibility is well ended, held out his hands toward the blazing stove. De Spain went over the words one by one, and the letters again and again. It was, after all their months of ardent meetings, the first written message he had ever had from Nan. He flamed angrily at the news that she was prisoner in her own home. But there was much to weigh in her etched words, much to think about concerning her feelings--not alone concerning his own.

He dropped into his chair and, oblivious for a moment of his companion's presence, stared into the fire. When he started from his revery Bull was asleep. De Spain picked him up, carried him in his blanket over to a cot, cut the wet rags off him, and, rolling him in a second blanket, walked out into the barn and ordered up a team and light wagon for Sleepy Cat. The rain fell all night.

CHAPTER XXIV

AN OMINOUS MESSAGE

Few men bear suspense well; de Spain took his turn at it very hard.

For the first time in his life he found himself braved by men of a type whose defiance he despised--whose lawlessness he ordinarily warred on without compunction--but himself without the freedom that had always been his to act. Every impulse to take the bit in his teeth was met with the same insurmountable obstacle--Nan's feelings--and the unpleasant possibility that might involve him in bloodshed with her kinspeople.

"Patience." He repeated the word to himself a thousand times to deaden his suspense and apprehension. Business affairs took much of his time, but Nan's situation took most of his thought. For the first time he told John Lefever the story of Nan's finding him on Music Mountain, of her aid in his escape, and the sequel of their friendship. Lefever gave it to Bob Scott in Jeffries's office.

"What did I tell you, John?" demanded Bob mildly.

"No matter what you told me," retorted Lefever. "The question is: What's he to do to get Nan away from there without shooting up the Morgans?"

De Spain had gone that morning to Medicine Bend. He got back late and, after a supper at the Mountain House, went directly to his room.

The telephone-bell was ringing when he unlocked and threw open his door. Entering the room, he turned on a light, closed the door behind him, and sat down to answer the call.

"Is this Henry de Spain?" came a voice, slowly p.r.o.nouncing the words over the wire.

"Yes."

"I have a message for you."

"What is it?"

"From Music Mountain."

"Go ahead."

"The message is like this: 'Take me away from here as soon as you can.'"

"Whom is that message from?"

"I can't call any names."

"Who are you?"

"I can't tell you that."

"What do you mean?"

"Just what I say. Good-by."

"Hold on. Where are you talking from?"

"About a block from your office."

"Do you think it a fair way to treat a man to----"

"I have to be fair to myself."

"Give me the message again."

"'Take me away from here as soon as you can.'"

"Where does it come from?"

"Music Mountain."

"If you're treating me fair--and I believe you mean to--come over to my room a minute."

"No."

"Let me come to where you are?"

"No."

"Let me wait for you--anywhere?"

"No."

"Do you know me?"

"By sight."

"How did you know I was in town to-night?"

"I saw you get off the train."